


Complicated Repairs

by bethagain



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Family, Gen, How's a guy like him supposed to raise a teenage Skywalker, Luke and Uncle Owen don't always get along, Owen tries so hard, and a T-16 skyhopper, he really does, warning for unintentionally abusive language from a parental figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:44:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8524456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethagain/pseuds/bethagain
Summary: Uncle Owen comes to get Luke—and the wreckage that used to be a T-16 skyhopper—and bring them both home.
Featuring one very battered Luke Skywalker and one very angry Uncle Owen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt that crossed my dash on tumblr the night of the US Presidential election, 2016. 
> 
> The line that stuck in my head, in the midst of my sadness, was “It’s just that I love you.”
> 
> And somehow that ended up here: with a banged-up Luke Skywalker and a furious Uncle Owen. For some reason writing it made me feel a little better. (We could get into metaphor and allegory and stuff but mostly I think it’s just a bit of whump to get my feelings out.) Maybe it will take someone else’s mind off things for a minute, too. Before we get back to thinking about the Work of dealing with what’s going on here in my much loved but very messed up country.

Luke's head was pounding but Uncle Owen was offering no sympathy. They were bringing the T-16 back to the workshop at the Lars homestead, Luke limping on a sprained knee as they hooked the little craft to the landspeeder. Owen got the repulsorlifts going, somehow, even though the engine was smashed. The skyhopper floated unsteadily a meter above the ground. 

The landspeeder’s engine growled at the extra weight.

Uncle Owen growled at Luke all the way back, too, when he wasn't hollering. Thirty-seven kilometres at low speed. A solid hour. 

“What were you _thinking?”_

Luke, in the passenger seat of the landspeeder, looked down at his knees so he wouldn't have to look at his uncle. He could see torn skin through the ripped fabric of his trousers. His left knee was scratched and bruised. On the right, drying blood was stiffening the fabric. That knee hurt with a sharp pain every time he shifted his leg.

“Do you know what repairs on a skyhopper _cost?_ "

Luke didn't. He hadn't thought about it. It wasn't like he'd _planned_ to crash.

“You better be ready to _live_ in the workshop. I figure at least a month just to pound that hull back into shape. Wave goodbye to your friends from here, because you are going _nowhere_ until that thing flies again.”

It didn't matter anyway, Luke thought. When he missed the canyon exit—but didn't miss the canyon wall—he'd known, even as the 'hopper was rolling end-over-end back down to the canyon floor, that his summer was over. Biggs and Fixer still had working ships. They weren't going to give up flying just because Luke was grounded.

“You think that T-16 just appeared on the farm by magic? Did we teach you nothing about the value of hard-earned credits? 

“And what kind of idiot flies a race through an _uncharted_ canyon?”

Luke looked over at his uncle in surprise.

“Oh, you think I don't know what you were doing? I know what you get up to out there. You're a smart kid, Luke. I don't know why you have to be so damn _stupid._ "

Luke leaned his head back against the seat. His neck hurt. His shoulders hurt. He could tell one ankle was swollen, feeling tight inside his boot. His helmet had whacked hard against the roof of the 'hopper, and there were still sparks at the edges of his vision.

The landspeeder slid past the Lars’ house and whirred to a stop outside the workshop.

“Get out.”

Luke climbed out slowly, swaying as his aching head adjusted.

“Get that thing unhooked and go get your tools.”

“Yes sir.” Luke turned to walk the length of the landspeeder, hobbling on the tender ankle, to bend his stiffening knees and unhitch the skyhopper. 

Uncle Owen changed his mind. “Go get cleaned up first.” He still sounded furious. “Don't let your aunt see you.” 

Luke straightened up again slowly, finding that his uncle was starting to look blurry. He put his hand to his face. His right eye was tender and starting to swell shut. How had he even done that? Hadn't his helmet stayed on? 

“I still can't _believe_ you. You could have been killed.”

“Well, I wasn't,” Luke finally snapped. “I’ll fix it. Just leave me alone!”

He stood there a moment, glaring back at his uncle, every sore muscle reminding him that he'd crashed his entire summer, all his plans with Biggs, his chance to become a better pilot, and maybe his whole chance of getting off this rock, when the T-16 hit that sheer canyon wall.

Then he managed to stomp his way into the workshop and slam the door.

Which is why he didn't hear his uncle, as Owen turned away from the doorway. As he took over unhitching the skyhopper and turning the repulsorlifts off by degrees, so the wrecked ship settled gently down onto the sand.

“It's just,” Owen said, a low mutter nearly lost in the twisted metal, “that I love you.”


End file.
